Natalie Rose
by StarLight837
Summary: Six year old Natalie Rose Daniels doesn't know how much longer she can hold up when her father, her only living relative, dies on the battle field. She doesn't know much about his work, only that he has some odd colleagues with even odder vehicles. Will she allow her father's friends to help her through the loss, or will she be able to take it? Set after RotF. Please R R!
1. Prolog (Important)

My Daddy had always said not to let grief consume you. That letting your feeling show in front of others will leave you prone to attack. So when I was picked up early from school by two somber men in full military uniforms and told that my Daddy had been killed on the battlefield, I did just that. I turned to stone, making sure to completely conceal my true emotions. Made sure not to let them see that I felt like I, too, was dying.

Let me intorduce myself. I'm Natalie Rose Daniels. I will be turning seven soon. I have dirty blond hair and peircing blue eyes that all my friends used to say seemed to stare right into their soul. I'm short, right under four feet tall, and skinny as a pole. And lately, I've been getting pale. My blue eyes have also lost their previous sparkle, growing dull and lifeless. I never smile, and my neighbor, who's been taking care of me now that I'm officially an orphan, has to force me to eat. I don't sleep.

Daddy was in the military, and I wasn't allowed to know where exactly he worked. He would leave for large periods of time in which I would stay with my neighbors or my friends, since I had no other family. My granparents had all died, and neither of my parents had had any siblings, and neither do I. My mother had died giving birth to me. So now, I'm alone in the world.

I honestly wished I had died with Daddy. I have nothing else to live for. Nobody else I loved. I knew what would happen. I would be thrown into the foster care system, given false hope of being adopted, and would stay, hopping from house to house until I turned eighteen, over eleven years away. But still, even knowing that, I locked myself up tight, keeping my emotions in check. I found better ways to deal with the pain, no matter how strong it was.

I buried myself in three things: school, reading and music. I raised my grades from high B's and low A's to straight 100's. I go through around a book a day, and I have music on constantly, cranking it to the highest level when I went across the house so I'd still be able to hear it.

I was allowed to stay in my home until the funeral, which is three days away, under the care of my previously mentioned neighbor, Mrs. Kelsey. She was nice, trying to break through my façade and trying to lighten the mood. She made sure I took care of myself, which I wouldn't have otherwise; I just didn't care. She was pretty, too, with a slim face untouched by make-up, long, wavy brown hair and hazel eyes. I was civil to her, polite. I even allowed a few laughs to slip by, ones that weren't even close to genuine. But that's okay. She's told me several times that she does, in fact, understand. She can't relate, but she understands my sullen personality.

I have a social worker, Ms. Ann, assigned to me, getting ready to help me find a new 'home'. She's okay, but I don't believe what she's constantly telling me about finding another family. Even if I am adopted, I'll never love them like I had loved Daddy. She visited me yesterday, letting me know that they'd found an elligible orphanage and updated me on the rules. Like I'd be excited. I don't want to leave this house, the only true 'home' I'll have for a good long while. All the scents, sights and sounds. The way the sunlight filters through in the mornings and evenings. The memories of Daddy playing with me, helping me with homework, and simply us cuddling up and watching a movie…

That's home.

My Daddy's work buddies planned the funeral, and it just so happens to be on my seventh birthday. I'm thankful towards them, and they let me help out. A guy named Will Lennox stopped by yesterday with several pictures of flowers, ribbons and color schemes, allowing me to help decide. He was really nice, and he actually cheered me up a little. He was apparently really close to Daddy. His truck is scary, though. A huge GMC Topkick, and it could eat me whole! He called it 'Ironhide'. Odd.

I honestly don't know if I can survive the coming weeks. I have barely made it past the last week. I can't keep my emotions bottled up much longer. I might just lose it. How can I keep going strong when I feel like I'm about to die? Like something's ripping me to shreds from the inside out?

I'll just keep praying, and see how it goes. I'm Natalie Rose, and this is my story.

A/N-So, how do you guys like it so far? Good? Any suggestions? I do not own transformers, and please R+R!


	2. Visitors

A/N- Thanks so much to all reviewers, favoriters and followers! I am going to respond to reviews by PM, but thank you all so much! I hope you like this chapter. I do not own transformers.

I sigh, brushing back a strand of my dull, thin hair. A little over a week ago, it was soft and shiny, but it had also fallen victim to my depleting health. I swing my legs, too short to touch the ground as I rest my head on my palms, elbows propped on the dining room table. My eyes wander, taking in the familiar setting. The cream-colored walls, the familiar pictures of me and him, the intricately carved wooden furniture… It kills me to think I will be forced to leave this place, another family moving in once I'm gone.

I fumble with the necklace my Daddy had given me as an early birthday gift- -an odd, robotic face on the type of chain a soldier's dog tags would be on. The face its self is oddly humanoid, yet at the same time, not even close to human. I cannot even describe it, but I love it; Daddy gave it to me.

Mrs. Kelsey falls into the identical wooden chair beside me, placing a slightly over-toasted grilled cheese in front of me, sitting the other in front of herself. She glares at me. "Okay, I know you don't want to eat, but I'm not letting you move from this chair until there is nothing left on that plate." She firmly demands, picking up her own and taking a large bite out of it. I look reluctantly at the sandwich as the cheese oozes out and onto the paper plate, sighing again.

I know that resisting won't get me anywhere but trouble, so I begrudgingly take it into my hand and nibble on it, my teeth not even puncturing the warm, melted cheese that oozes from the crunchy bread. I look up as Mrs. Kelsey sighs, and find her staring at me with worn, tired eyes.

Sitting her own sandwich back onto her plate, she slowly stands from the chair and moves to stand beside me, crouching down to be at eye level. I shudder in surprise when she wraps her arms around me, gently squeezing. I stiffen, then relax slightly and move my frail arms to wrap around her neck.

"I know, baby. It hurts. But your daddy wouldn't want you to let yourself go like this," she sighs out in a voice filled with sadness and worry. I feel her rest her chin on the top of my head, and I withdraw into myself even more.

I know Daddy wouldn't want me to do this. But I can't help it. It's tearing me apart, and every inch of me is screaming to just give up. I don't know how I'll keep going without the one person I loved and looked up to, or if I'll even survive. I'm desperate to somehow find myself in his arms again, though I know it's impossible.

When Mrs. Kelsey releases me and falls back, watching intently for my reaction, I hesitantly take the warm bread back into my hand, taking a regular sized bite out of it this time. She gives me a weary smile, hazel eyes lighting up slightly as I savor the cheesy taste, forcing myself to swallow the bite. My stomach growls in appreciation, for I have been ignoring its needs for far too long.

We both jump, Mrs. Kelsey leaping from her spot on the tile floor as a gong resounds around the empty house over the music I insisted on having. "Coming," she loudly sing-songs, her voice like silk as she moves quickly down the hall and disappears around the corner. I take it as an excuse to forget about my food, and fall from the seat, my bare feet sticking to the cold marble.

Dashing down the darkened hall, I try to ignore all the picture frames that were scattered across the walls. They just brought pain. They portrayed me and my Daddy in several scenarios, almost all in which we were genuinely smiling, eyes bright as we played in a stream, flew a kite or simply lay on a grassy hill. A couple held the image of a women whom I had never, and will never, meet, yet who gave me life.

My mother.

I used to stare at the pictures in wonder, absorbing every detail. She looked exactly like me, and if she were alive, I could've been her clone. The exact same blue eyes, dirty-blonde hair that never stayed straight, and almost-too-skinny figure.

I shake off the thoughts, knowing they would lead back to my father. My mother I could deal with, but Daddy… was just too fresh of a tragedy. Instead, I focus on the sound of three voices in the greeting room as I walk down the hall. I keep my eyes latched onto the wooden planks, the little light present bouncing off of them and reflecting my bony, pale figure and scraggly hair which fell around my sunken face as I looked down.

Turning the corner and looking up, I find Mr. Will conversing with Mrs. Kelsey, along with a man whom I have never seen before. He has electric blue eyes that seem to glow with an unnatural light, and close-cut, choppy light brown hair that is combed down flat. He wears a deep, royal blue jacket, red and orange flames rising from the bottom and lapping at the beautiful cerulean. Black dress pants complement it.

He has a military stance and figure, and my throat squeezes shut as I notice the similarities between Daddy and him. I close my eyes momentarily and chase the thoughts away. They seemed to plague me; everywhere I went the memories followed, shadows of my and his past that wanted to haunt me.

All three adults seem to take notice of my prone figure, their heads turning my way one after another. My lifeless blue eyes dart to the ground, and I refuse to lift them as I hear Mrs. Kelsey speak.

"There she is," she rhetorically notes. I look up out of the top of my eyes, and see both army men smiling warmly at me, a kind look in both of their eyes. Stiffly walking forward with my head ducked down, I struggle between running away and moving forward. I decide on the latter when Mrs. Kelsey motions me to her.

Grudgingly shuffling over and attaching myself to her side, I focus my attention on the familiar face of the two, Mr. Will. Catching my gaze right before my eyes dart back down to the ground, he speaks.

"Natalie, this is Mr. Orion," he directs to me, and I lift my head slightly, before letting it fall right back down when he looks my way. "Orion, this is Natalie Rose." He finishes the introduction, including my middle name as he introduces me.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Natalie," I hear the man speak in a deep, baritone voice. I keep my gaze locked on to my bare feet as I mentally take notice of his greeting. Mr. Will or Mrs. Kelsey will explain. An awkward silence.

"She… She doesn't speak. Not since…" my caretaker trails off in an awkward manner, absently smoothing my hair as she searches for the right words. She doesn't have to. We all know what she's talking about. Another moment of silence, only broken by a small sigh coming from myself. I hear a slight 'Hm' and I glance up with more than a little hesitancy to find Mr. Orion staring at me with great interest. Or, more specifically, my necklace.

"What is that your emblem portrays, Natalie?" he asks me, voice laced with intent interest and curiosity. I instinctively wrap my hand around the small charm as the other two turn to scrutinize it as well.

"You know, I was never able to figure it out. It was an early birthday gift to her," Mrs. Kelsey explains, excluding the painful detail that it was from my Daddy as she kneels in front of me. I remove my shaking hand to reveal the mysterious picture and she squints slightly as she takes it in. "I have no idea," she exclaims in a baffled tone, rising.

"May I see, little one?" Mr. Orion asks me. I look to Mrs. Kelsey for guidance and she comfortingly nods. In response, I turn to him, shyly meeting his gaze for a split second and holding the pendant a little ways away from my chest, where it falls.

Swiftly striding over, he bends down next to me and rests his hand underneath it, forming a background while he lifts it up. Something flickers in his eyes as he views it, but I cannot identify it before it is masked. "It is very pretty," is all that is said about it as he smiles at me, walking back over to Mr. Will.

"Want to sit out on the porch?" Mrs. Kelsey offers our visitors, peeking through the slates of the blinds and out into the bright sunlight.

"Sure, why not?" Mr. Will cheerfully agrees, crookedly grinning. Mr. Orion merely nods, seemingly not caring either way. I remain silent, as is customary for me, and slip on my shoes as Mrs. Kelsey told me to before joining the others on the covered porch that jutted off of the front of the house. It is a large porch, with several rockers sat by the wall and a swing on either end, hanging from the rafters. Several fans spin wildly above us from the roof, clicking as they did so, to keep air circulating, battling the summer heat.

I slowly walk over to the furthest swing, on the opposite side of the porch, and lower myself onto it; I was paranoid now, as the last time I sat on it, it swung out from under me when I carelessly plopped on.

Kicking off my pink flip-flops, I pull my legs up and fold them beside me, the warm, rough wood probably doing a number on them. I'd regret it later when I had to dig for splinters, but right now, I don't care. Leaning back in the seat, I permit my head to rest on the top of the low back, absentmindedly watching a butterfly swoop in random patterns. I used to adore butterflies, but now they anger me with their seemingly boundless optimism. Why must nature be so perky?

I somehow gather the energy and will-power to lift my head as I hear an engine approach, gravel crunching as a horn blares. An unfamiliar white van is swooping around the curvy gravel drive at a hurried pace. In my peripheral vision, I see Mrs. Kelsey rise from her rocker, hair blowing back in the slight breeze as Mr. Will and Mr. Orion look on in curiosity as she approaches the now slowing van.

I stand and begrudgingly trudge forward, leaping down the four stairs that rose from the walkway instead of climbing down like normal. I shoot a halfway amused look back to the porch as I hear panicked cries, smirking half-heartedly at the two men as they seem to see that I am indeed unharmed.

Looking up right as the two front doors on the mystery vehicle swing open, I manage to see two women clamber out, Mrs. Ann being one of them. The other I've never seen. Something about her seems to chill the sweltering air, and I take a rigid half-step back.

Her frosty, remorseless grey eyes seem to shriek of malevolence, though her cheery smile contradicts them. Shoulder length blonde hair cascades neatly around her narrow face, and she is abnormally tall, around six feet, I would guess. I promptly turn around before I am noticed, darting back to and up the stairs and to Mr. Will's side. He looks at me in confusion, eyes searching my ridged form for answers as he places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

Muffled voices reach our ears as the car doors slam, the sharp 'thud' gaining our attention. I hear, with an abundance of dread, heels clicking up the sidewalk. Mrs. Kelsey unlatches the gate with ease, swinging it open and moving back to hold it for the two visitors. I scowl slightly and divert my gaze to the ground, both men standing to greet them.

I freeze slightly, pressing back into the warm brick as the stranger smiles warmly and comes closer, reaching out and firmly shaking each of the adult's hands, aside from Mrs. Ann. Something about her isn't right.

"Hello," she cheerfully greets, voice up-beat and pleasant. It was obvious she wasn't as happy as she was trying to make out, her smile faltering every so often as she took in her surroundings. Her cold eyes land on me, and her 'smile' widens as she stoops down to be at eye level. I can easily smell an expensive perfume wafting from her, and it nauseates me.

"And you must be Natalie! I'm Ms. Eve. I run the orphanage you'll be staying at," she explains, her perky voice never failing. "Aren't you as cute as a button! You'll have a new home and family before we get you through the doors!" she gleefully exclaims in a high-pitched, 'baby' voice. I divert my eyes downwards as my face heats up slightly.

A pause.

"She doesn't speak. Hasn't since the accident," Mrs. Kelsey quickly explains, a small smile on her face, more like a grimace.

"Oh," Ms. Eve replies, happy tone failing as her voice turns sour momentarily. Looking up, I see doubt and irritation in her eyes. "Well, it doesn't matter. Tons of families want a cutie like you, regardless of that!" She reassures me, happiness returning. Mrs. Ann walks over to the assembled group, hair flying back.

"We'll be able to move her in as soon as the service is over," she speaks to Mrs. Kelsey. My temporary guardian nods in dismay. She knows how I feel on the subject, even though I didn't say.

"Well," Ms. Eve says with a loud clap and a bright grin. "I just wanted to come and meet my newest duckling! I can't wait to have you, and the other children are so excited!" she chirps. I slowly slide towards the nearest person, Mr. Orion. He frowns slightly, resting a comforting hand on my back and pulls me closer, pressing me to his side. I don't think he trusts this overly-cheerful lady, either. And I'm going to stay with her for eleven years? I shudder.

Mrs. Ann turns to Mrs. Kelsey again. "I'll send you the papers," she smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry we can't stay longer; we have another appointment in an hour, and the drive is fifty minutes out."

"That's alright," she replies, seemingly relieved. "I'll see you later, I suppose." And with that, they turn and walk away, Ms. Eve patting me on the head before she retreats. I blink, staring after their retreating figures and watch them climb back into the van. The engine flares to life, and they pull away.

Well, that was interesting.


	3. The Funeral Part One

A/N- hey guys! Thanks so much to all favoriters, followers and reviewers! I can honestly say that I am a little more than shocked at how well people like this story, but I am beyond glad! I am not quite as proud of this chapter, and it may be changed later, but I really wanted to put something up for y'all! And it may just be me, but I just don't feel like it meets up with the other two. Can you all please tell me what you think? Leave or change? Also, I do not own Transformers. I do, however, own Natalie and the plot!

XXXXXX

I remain silent, breathing rapid and shallow as the silence steadily rips me apart. As the road whizzes by in a dark gray blur, I am steadily torn further in two. My emotions are raging inside of me, and I realize that I will not be able to hold up my façade much longer. The two adults in the front seat are sitting in an awkward silence as well, the tension worsening my outlook dramatically. I feel as if I should say something, though I haven't for over three weeks.

I sit on the edge of my seat, afraid to touch anything as I stare at the carpeted floorboard, afraid that if I lift my eyes I will break down. Annabelle sits next to me in her solid black dress, staring blankly out of the tinted window and at the passing scenery. Mr. Will had picked me up around fifteen minutes ago, along with another man whom I had never met and his fifteen year old daughter. He had introduced the man to me as Mr. Hide, and he apparently owns the monstrous truck that we are riding in.

Tugging slightly my dress, I move my eyes to stare at the fabric. It was soft, comfortable velvet, yet the color makes my stomach churn dangerously.

Solid black.

It serves as a grim reminder of what is happening. My daddy, gone. My life, torn in two. My hopes, shattered. I merely wish for it to end. I don't care how. I risk a glance upwards, and immediately shoot my gaze back to my lap. I cannot bare to look up.

We are in a long line of vehicles, a police car at the front of the line and again at the rear. We creep along at a slow pace, other vehicles pulling to the side for us to pass, most drivers dipping their heads in respect. A hearse is right behind us, holding what remains of Daddy. I still cannot believe it. He's really gone, gone to be an angel. I mentally shake myself, switching my thoughts for the moment.

Most of the vehicles here are unusual, to say the least. Or, at least the ones I have seen. A blue, flamed eighteen wheeler, what seems to be a hummer-turned-rescue vehicle, a yellow camero with black racing stripes, three, brightly-colored Augusta motorcycles, pink, purple and blue, a Pontiac solstice, a Chevy Volt, a Chevy Stingray Corvette, and a Ferrari 458 Italia being the oddest. And then there was the assortment of military vehicles trailing behind us.

Sighing, I look to Annabelle, feeling her gaze. She looks at me not with pity, but with respect in her eyes. I give her a small smile. I'm more than happy to see someone able to look me in the eyes without feeling sorry for me; I hated being pitied. It brought nothing back, and only causes more difficulties. She smiles back, even though it is forced.

Raising my hand, I brush back a strand of my loose hair. I hated wearing it down, but Mrs. Kelsey wouldn't let me put it in a ponytail, and she didn't know how to do it any other way. I fiddle absently with the discreet ponytail holder on my wrist, aching to pull the annoying mess of brown back.

"Do you want me to braid it for you? We have time…" I start, and look towards Annabelle. She cocks her head as she looks to me, waiting for a response. I blink, and then pull the band off of my small, shaky wrist, handing it to her and I give her a grateful look. She nods slightly.

"Okay, turn around for me," she instructs, and I do as she requested, twisting in the seat in order to allow her access to my scraggly hair. I resist the urge to start as I feel her fingers rake through, tickling my scalp. "Do you mind if I use a brush?" I give a small shake of my head, the most I have communicated in over a month. Daddy'd be proud.

I absently observe cars pull over to the side, and watch them shoot me a sorrowful look as we pass. For the most part, anyways. Some insensitive people merely glared, probably cursing under their breath. I frowned deeper as I watched one man's hand hover indecisively over the horn for a moment as he glares. I can't help but wonder if he'd feel the same way if he was in my situation as I relish the feeling of the teen playing with my hair.

Wincing, Annabelle lets out a quick gasp as she pulls my hair a little bit too hard. "Sorry!" she quickly apologizes. "I'm trying to get it tight, make it last," she explains, grunting slightly as she tugs on another strand. My breath hitches as the solemn funeral home rolls into view, the cheery flowers dotting the mulch beds belying the real atmosphere, as if trying to counter the sadness lingering in the air. The many cars begin to file onto the pavement lot, steadily filling the numerous spaces as the band I had gave Annabelle snaps into place around my now braided hair.

"It's a fishtail," she reveals proudly. "It's more formal." I stiffly nod as I fight back tears, my eyes burning as I observe the hearse pulling around back, the tinted windows an intimidating sight. I jolt as a door clicks open, and glance up to find Mr. Will easily climbing out of the driver's seat and into the sun, Mr. Hide doing the same on the opposite side.

"Annie," he calls, leaning back into the giant pick-up, a hand on the door frame and the other gripping the wheel. "Help Natalie get down," he instructs, and she nods obediently.

"'Kay," she replies, releasing her seatbelt with an audible 'click' and gently climbing out of the large truck. She comes to my side, and I shakily stand as the door opens. She laughs slightly. "'Hide…s" she awkwardly adds the 's' a second later as her father shoots her an angry look, drawing it out a little too long and putting a hand on her own blonde braid. "Truck too big for you?" she finishes uncomfortably, and Mr. Lennox looks away, satisfied. I give her a confused stare, but shake it off as she places her hands underneath my arms, effortlessly lifting me and propping me on her hip.

Frowning, I grimly note how small I am. Mrs. Kelsey debated taking me to my pediatrician a few weeks ago because of it, but I strongly declined, turning tail and fleeing to my room when it was mentioned. To be blunt, there are some four-year-olds my height and weight. Large four-year-olds, but four-year-olds all the same. Hey! That reminds me! I'm seven today! Allowing myself to rest my head on her shoulder, I let out a long-suffering sigh, and watch strange people I have never met climb out of their vehicles through undoubtedly dull eyes.

I perk slightly, though the motion is so miniscule it is barely visible, as I see Mr. Orion climb out of the giant semi with little to no difficulty; he makes it look as if he is simply stepping off of a curb on the side of the street. He sees me looking his direction as he gently slings the door shut, and he gives me a small, grim smile and a wave before turning and speaking to one of the ladies that had climbed off of the motorcycles. I squint slightly as the slim woman removes her pink helmet, dirty-blonde hair falling to just below her shoulders. I can see her piercing blue eyes from here, and she sends me a concerned gaze, head tilted slightly after following Mr. Orion's eyes. I cannot help but think how closely she resembles my deceased mother, excluding the oddly electric blue eyes, even though her frame is brightly silhouetted by the bright sunlight ricocheting off of the vehicles.

I force myself to divert my attention to the building that is now looming over me like a monster waiting to strike. A deep foreboding aura is surrounding the structure, despite the clear skies, bright sun and fresh air. Unlike most children my age, my Daddy had made sure that I did, in fact, understand death. I knew he was gone, and the realization tears me to pieces as if trying to escape from within me. The pain is unbearable, and is seeping at my strength, and I am numb. I am now certain how I feel as the tears well in my eyes, and, for the first time, I don't try to stop them, though they don't spill. I want to die, to go with Daddy. I want him to hug me, to assure me that it will be okay.

But it isn't okay. No matter what people think. It infuriates me that people can say, "Oh, It'll be okay after a while; it gets better." How do they know? They don't know how close we were. Now, my second half has been demolished, torn from me. And they say it'll be okay? It won't. I want to die.

Annabelle gently lowers me to the ground, sitting me on my feet as Mr. Hide holds the glass door for us, bright stickers and posters stuck mainly to the sides of the clear pieces. Taking her hand in my own, smaller one, I gently step inside, the cold air assaulting me as it licks at my skin, which the summer heat had warmed. My breathing quickens, and I am suddenly having trouble getting air into my systems, and my eyes water as I quiver. Even though I thought I understood, that the realization had sunk in, I now realize how wrong I was. I can now see that, while I knew it wasn't, I have been hoping that this was all a prank. A cruel joke, meant to rile me. And it is hitting me hard.

I see the older girl glance at me in unbelievable worry, stopping abruptly as she looks to me. I can feel my eyes widen as I fight to breathe correctly, hysterical, and she is seeing the effects. Most everyone is in the building now, the employees drawing the thick, black curtains and blocking the sunlight, to be replaced by dim candles hung from the sickeningly cream walls in ornate holders, and the exquisite chandeliers dangling from the high, concave ceiling. The men and women around me, all dressed in black, are turning in curiosity, their expressions soon changing from interest to worry and pity. Annabelle nudges her father, and he quickly turns, face drooping and eyes dulling in unimaginable sorrow as he moves forward, swiftly lifting me into his war-hardened arms and dragging me to the side of the room.

He struggles to gain my attention, but all I see are blurs of lights and darks, shadows and figures, and all I hear is a strange 'hum' which reverberates in my ears. I vaguely notice him waving his hand in front of my face, and mouthing my name, but I am too far gone too reach. My eyes burn from the salty tears that refuse to spill, my throat aching from the sob it cannot release, and, most importantly, my heart from the loss it just realized it is suffering. I subconsciously note several people coming over, the three women from off of the motorcycles, all of which look like Mommy, a older man I have never seen before with kind blue eyes and a grey beard, Mr. Orion and Mr. Hide. But I hardly notice them. My eyes fixate on the huge, wooden double doors in front of us, which are slowly opening, automatic, I assume.

My eyes land on the beautiful, beyond ornate coffin laying at the front of the room, and my gaze slowly moves upwards as I silently pray that it is closed. It isn't. I see my Daddy, my life, my world, my role model, my hero, laying in the coffin, some areas of his pale, lifeless skin stitched together with thin wire threads, black hair combed neatly to the side and a peaceful expression on his placid face,

And I break.


	4. The Funeral Part Two

A/N- Hey guys! Thanks so much for all the reviews, favorites and follows! I never expected this story to be so popular! I'm sorry it took so long for me to update, but I am trying to allow myself more time with each chapter in order to improve the quality. Please R+R, and I hope you like it!

XXX

I collapse to the carpeted ground, knees hitting the rough flooring with a dull 'thump' as my legs give in, no longer having the energy to support myself. My eyes blearily focus on the ornate oak casket, and I cannot tear my gaze away, suddenly unable to breathe as I stare in disbelief. He told me he'd always be here! He never breaks his promises!

Time seems to slow down, the movements in my peripheral vision slowing to a crawl. I suddenly cannot hear, every trace of the noise that was, and probably still is, filling the hall vanishes, to be replaced with an annoying, high pitched ringing that echoes in my ears. I don't blink, even as I see Mr. Will stoop down and cautiously wave his hand in front of my face, worry etched across his features and sparkling in his eyes.

A tear finally escapes, sliding down my cheek and leaving a trail behind. That breaks the dam. More follow, wetting my face as I resist the urge to scream, finally taking a sharp breath as the lack of oxygen becomes too much for me to handle. Stumbling to my feet as quickly as I can, I take a few hasty steps backwards, stumbling on the third and barely regaining my balance in time.

Shaking my head in denial as if to convince myself this is just an awful dream, nothing more than an illusion, I quickly trip backwards until I find myself pressed against the wall, slowly lowering myself to the ground as I clench my shaking hands into tight fists. Numerous people are standing to the side, looking nervously in my direction and shooting hesitant sideways glances to their companions as if they want to do something, but don't know what _to _do. I see their mouths moving as they look to each other, conversing, but hear nothing in my terror. I curl into a ball, head tucked between my chest and my knees as I openly sob, my whole body shaking as I struggle to inhale. This is too much for my broken heart to handle

-Arcee's P.O.V.-

I sorrowfully watch with rapt attention as the almost abnormally small child hastily skitters backwards, face red and panicked as she slams into the wall and sinks to the floor. She cannot seem to tear her dull, emotional and expressive eyes away from her deceased father, and I feel something inside of myself begin to break. Nobody should have to go through this, especially such a young child, who has barely begun to experience life. Absently fumbling with my morbidly black dress, I briefly glance to my sister as she begins to speak.

"Should we do something?" Chromia uneasily asks. "I mean, she obviously needs _someone_…"

"Yes, but that 'someone' is more than likely not us. She needs family," Elita, the third of our trine, replies, tone grim and compassionate as she stares at the sobbing girl's frail figure.

"Have you not heard?" I quickly ask in disbelief. "The poor thing does not have any relatives left, not even distant." I inform her, my holoform's eyes surely laden with pity as I shoot her a cautious glance.

"She is alone," the femme commander breathes out in disbelief, a hand going to her mouth in shock as her eyes widen.

"What should we do?" Chromia questions, torn. I can feel her desire to help flooding through our sibling bond, but I also feel her overwhelming reluctance. She, like I and Elita, does not know what to do or how to act. I quickly make up my mind, not having the spark to watch the despairing young girl go without consolation any longer, the other guests only staring and murmuring.

"I do not know, but I am about to find out." I respond, looking them both in the eye before stepping forward. They do not attempt to stop me, but I can easily sense their doubt that I will be able to help; it comes with being a trine. I quickly stride forward, head high as I set my sights on the shaking figure huddled against the wall. I feel the other's criticizing stares burning into my back, but I do not care. The child, Natalie, I believe, is far more important than my reputation.

Once I reach her prone form, I quickly stoop down, folding my annoyingly long legs beside me. "Hey," I quietly whisper in the most soothing tone I can muster, unwilling for the entire crowd to hear our conversation. She seems to not hear me as she remains oblivious to the world, so I gently reach out and run a slender hand over the top of her head and allow it to run down her braid. She shifts slightly, but seems to curl further into herself instead of looking up. I sigh slightly, not in exasperation or frustration, but in thought. I don't want to upset her further, or cause her any discomfort, though I do wish to move to a more private setting, where prying eyes and ears will not be able to practically record the interaction.

"Natalie," I whisper again, rubbing gentle, soothing circles on her worryingly bony back. "Please, look at me," I request. She hesitantly lifts her head slightly, allowing herself to shyly glance at me through red, swollen eyes, tears still streaming as she fights to breath. I give her a small, comforting and reassuring smile. "Is it okay if I take you somewhere a little more… Private?" I request, keeping my voice to a level where only she can hear.

She seems to think a moment as she keens, and I can see the internal battle within her raging through her eyes, which seemed to show every emotion she holds. It has been a long time since I have seen such sorrow and mistrust in one so young; it is spark-breaking. Finally, after a long, drawn-out minute, she gives a barely visible nod, deciding to allow herself to trust me. I am beyond grateful, and I know just how great of an honor it is.

I carefully, cautiously reach to her, which isn't far considering how close I had positioned myself, and gently pull her unbelievably light figure onto my lap, wary of any signs of fear she may give. She doesn't seem frightened, quite the contrary. She seems to collapse against me as she wraps her stick-like arms around my neck, burying her tear-streaked face in the crook of it. I slowly stand, watching her closely as I wind through the crowd. She merely presses herself against me as I move, wrapping her thin legs around my waist as the crowd parts to make way for us. At least they have that much respect, I mentally growl.

A curious prodding comes over the bond, searching for answers, and I quickly reply, pushing reassurance through the link. A wave of forced, unsatisfied contentment rushes back through. Locating a desolate hallway to the left, I veer towards it, quickly loping into the darkness. The funeral starts in fifteen minutes. Hopefully I will have time to calm the small girl to a manageable state before then, though I am uncertain what will happen when the actual service begins. Oh, well. I will, as the humans say, cross that bridge as I come to it.

I swerve into the first doorway I find, quickly dragging my hand along the wall to find the light switch, and flip it once my hand brushes against it. The dim lights flicker on, and I scowl upwards. Would it hurt them to change the bulbs? Looking around, I find myself in a slightly creepy, office-like room, one that seems to be out of commission. The peach paint is chipping, cobwebs scattered in the corners and behind the bits of furniture.

Wheeling around and pushing the button on the cold metal handle that locks the door, I glance around once more and move to sit in a dusty, ratty old armchair placed in the corner, its olive green coloring faded. I shoot it a hesitant glance, half-way wondering if it will support both my weight and Natalie's, but, after gently prodding it, slowly lower myself onto its stained, fraying seat. I am pleased to find it holds, but slightly uncomfortable with its size. It is the type of chair in which the over-sized armrests come to your shoulders, and the back is a foot to tall, making you feel uncomfortably contained.

I gently detach the small child's arms from around my neck, and she doesn't protest, limply leaning against me, eyes glazed and distant as she stares into the air, unseeing. Her breaths are coming in short, shallow gasps, and I find myself fighting against the urge to call for Ratchet. She seems to have lost the ability to cry, hiccupping and sniffling every few seconds, though no more tear drops fall. I comfortingly wrap my arms around her, drawing my legs up and placing them onto the chair in order to curl around her. She doesn't react, and it is beyond worrying.

"Natalie," I reach out, hesitant. Not gaining any sort of reaction, I rest my chin on the top of her head and sigh. "Please, sweetsp-heart," I begin, quickly correcting myself as I automatically attempt to say 'spark' instead of the human term. "Look at me." I bounce her slightly, and she jolts as if I had struck her; she was that far gone.

She looks up at me, and her eyes alone nearly cause me to break down into tears. They are innocent, no evil within them, though the sorrow clouding them is unbearable, revealing just how much pain she is in. The way she is looking at me pleads for me to somehow rescue her, to tell her it isn't real, and how I wish I could. As I previously stated, no child should have to go through this. I cannot help but pull her closer to myself, wrapping my arms protectively around her. She lets out a small wail, a cry laden with pain, clutching my clothing like a life-line as she attempts to block out the world.

"I'm here, baby," I whisper into her ear as she sobs uncontrollably against me. "I know it doesn't feel like it, and I am not saying it will ever be the same- I am not going to lie, it won't- but it does get better, even though it doesn't feel like it will now." I promise her, my own voice cracking. Hiccupping uncontrollably, she lifts her head and peers into my eyes. I know what she is looking for: a promise, something to assure herself that I am, in fact, correct. Giving her a small, sad smile, I gently press my forehead against her smaller one, turning her to where her legs have to once again wrap around my waist slightly, even sitting. I make eye contact. "Trust me."

She sighs slightly, wrapping her arms around me as best she can and latches on, placing her small head over where my heart would be if I were human, and listens to the artificial heartbeat. She is still mourning, though not as violently. I smile warmly, subtly enhancing the sound as relief washes through me. I frown as I hear a small buzz, reaching down and pulling out my portable comm. Link we are required to carry as holoforms, in the shape of a 'cell phone'. Flipping it open, I stare intently at the small screen.

-Chromia: It's starting.


	5. The Funeral Part Three

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long! Explanation at the end, though don't skip to it, as it may spoil it slightly. I do not own Transformers. Only Natalie and the plot line.

XXX

"Natalie," the lady, I don't even know her name, pleadingly whispers into my ear, voice sorrowful and caring as she gently runs her hand down my braid. I hesitantly glance up at her through bleary, watery red eyes, my vision blurred and distorted. I refuse to meet her concerned gaze as I focus on my clasped, shaking hands, which are laid in my lap. "Are you sure you're ready for this, sweetheart?" she gently croons, brushing a stray lock of hair out of my face as I allow myself to close my eyes for a moment.

Letting out a long-suffering, sorrowful breath as another tear streaks down my cheek, I open my eyes once more and recline against her comforting form. Honestly, I am beyond unsure. I don't know if I can get through it, the emotional trauma being too much for my breaking heart. But, I also know that it is now or never, and that I must pull through. Daddy would want me to.

Making my decision with this realization in mind, and determined not to turn back, I force myself to stiffly nod, the movement so small I am surprised she noticed. "I'm here for you," she caringly informs, placing a finger under my chin and forcing me to look up at her. "If you need to leave at any point, just tell me." She firmly demands, leaving no room for argument as she wraps her slender arms around me and gently squeezes, my dress crinkling further as it is compressed.

Releasing me from her embrace, she gently grabs me underneath my arms, slowly rising and holding me to her chest. I want to cry, to scream my lungs out, to just collapse here and now and die, but I cannot. I cannot even get a tear to fall by now. I'm past crying. I simply wrap my arms around her neck and allow my legs to limply dangle as I allow her to carry me from the dusty, worn old office, and to the ornate, grim service room.

I close my strained eyes and attempt to steady my erratic, heavy breathing, trying to battle the sorrow ripping me to shreds. Maybe this is all a joke, or a dream. Maybe I'll wake up in a few minutes, and he'll come running to my side like always. I nearly choke as I dismiss these thoughts which I would so love to harbor. He's not coming back, no matter how much I wish he would. I curl in on myself, hands balling into tight fists as I struggle to keep a hold on my receding sanity.

Eyes flying open as the lighting changes slightly, I find us merging with the large, murmuring crowd of people beginning to morbidly flood into the large, dim sanctuary that holds the casket, where the service will be preformed. Flowers of all different hues are neatly spread across the room, and the sparkling chandeliers dangling precariously from the concave ceiling provide the only light, though even that left the room extraordinarily dim. A giant organ was propped in the corner, the pipes just visible above the throng, right by the slight platform that serves as the stage. It is easy now to pretend that nothing is happening, that it is just Sunday morning church or similar. But I know it won't be when we get seated, and it begins.

The seats are filled rather quickly, mourners filing into single file lines and quietly following one another down the aisles until they locate their seat, those who knew him well toward the front, and those who were merely acquaintances to the back of the room. I vaguely notice Mr. Will, Mr. Orion, Annabelle and Mr. Hide somberly locate an empty area on the third row, indicating that they were close to him, as well as several others whom I have not met. It takes every bit of will-power I have to not look to the altar, but I know that I will surely break down if I do so.

"Where are they?" I hear her mutter, frustration leaking into her placid, soothing voice. Resting my head against her shoulder, I struggle to block out the numerous pitying stares that are being directed towards us, or, more specifically, me, and move only my eyes as I stare up at her.

She brushes a strand of her wavy hair out of the way, huffing slightly as it merely falls right back where it was, and slowly scans the steadily filling pews, eyes glinting in irritation. I jolt slightly in surprise as two other women, identical to her, much to my astonishment, swiftly move to stand beside us, to our right.

"Arcee, there you are! We thought we'd never find you!" one of them exclaims in relief, seeming to deflate as she exhales. Blinking slightly, I look to each one in turn. I had never seen triplets before, but I doubt it could be any other circumstance. They are exactly the same, matching in height, appearing to be around the same size, and their eyes are all the same electric blue. Their dirty-blond curls all fall the exact same way and to the exact same length, and their dresses match perfectly. In fact, the only difference I can find is a small bracelet clasped around their wrists; one of them has blue, the other has purple, and, looking down, I find that Arcee has a hot pink one.

"I was wondering the same thing about you two," Arcee speaks up in a soft whisper, gently shifting me from one hip to the other as she swiftly glances behind us.

"There is a section of open seats," the third speaks up, eyes brightening as she suddenly straightens. I uncaringly glimpse over to where she is staring, a small section of unoccupied seating on the second row, ironically right in front of the small amount of people whom I know.

"Let's go," the other eagerly replies, abruptly reaching out and grasping both of her siblings' hands, tugging them forward. They both yelp, stumbling slightly as they struggle to adapt to the new, sudden pace, Arcee's grip tightening around my waist as she recovers.

"'Mia!" Arcee admonishes in a hushed tone, scowling. "Must you do that every time you wish for us to accompany you?" The guilty party doesn't slow, rather accelerates as she yanks us to the vacant spots.

"It is not necessary, yet it is quite amusing." She off-handedly, callously replies, exhaling as she quickly lowers herself to the padded bench.

"Must you act so immature?" the third speaks up, frowning in disapproval as she forcefully rips her hand out of her sibling's grasp and crosses her arms. Arcee rolls her eyes, looking down at me in annoyance and sighing. She quickly takes a seat next to her triplet, gently placing me on her lap and draping her arms around me, casually clasping her hands and allowing them to rest in my own lap. I automatically curl closer to her and allow myself to rest my head on her chest, seeking the familiarity she radiates in the crowd of strangers.

The last of our small group takes a seat on my other side, finally taking notice of my prone figure as she looks down upon me with soft, kind eyes, though a frown is stretched across her face. I press closer to Arcee, put off by the scrutinizing gaze.

"Oh!" my rescuer suddenly yelps out, and I jump at the unexpected exclamation. "Natalie," she begins, and I look up at her, blinking. "These are my sisters, Mia," she points to the woman to our right, and she narrows her eyes slightly before they soften in approval, smiling and giving a small, swift wave. "And Elita." I shyly glance back to the lady whom had originally noticed me. She lets a genuine, warm and caring smile slip past, eyes seeming to glow as she takes in my ragged appearance. I feel myself grow even more comfortable and at ease with the three women. I honestly do not know why I am; they will simply leave me at the end of the service, more than likely forgetting me entirely by the end of the week.

My heart sinks further at the realization. For a few minutes, I had swayed myself into the illusion that I truly had found somebody else who cared for me, even if only the slightest. I now realize what a fool I was. Well, I reason with myself, attempting to convince that annoying voice in the back of my mind that seemed to always ruin the moment with morbid thoughts. I might as well continue to dwell in the feeling for a while longer. Until I truly have nobody near me.

The crowd suddenly falls into a tense silence, heads slowly turning to the front of the cavernous room. Those who had been visiting others in separate isles hurriedly depart, scurrying to their own seats or spaces against the wall as others merely sit, having been standing in front of their chairs. In a matter of seconds I had a clear view.

An elderly man, what little hair he has grey, stands stoically behind an ancient podium, eyes drooping and sunken and unnervingly pale skin wrinkled. His brown eyes, so dark they almost look black, hold no interest as he solemnly gazes out over the sea of sorrowful guests. His tuxedo holds no creases as he straightens himself even further.

However, I hold no interest in the preacher as my gaze once again lands on the coffin, now surrounded by a colorful array of flowers, and on my father's still, lifeless form. A sharp pain suddenly flares in my stomach, and my breath catches in my throat. Arcee seems to notice, resting her chin on the top of my head and gently taking my small hands in her own, larger ones. The man begins to speak, his tone drawling and monotone, though I do not pay any attention to his dialogue.

-Arcee's P.O.V. -

I immediately recognize her distress, feeling her tense rather drastically and watching as her eyes latch onto the coffin. I will be honest; I am rather inexperienced with humans, let alone human sparklings, so I am quickly running out of ideas to console her. Standard tactics used for the little ones of my own race would prove useless for the small child, especially in a holoform. Quickly searching my memory banks, I attempt to recollect any encounters of human carriers and their own younglings, but I fall short. Instead, I merely tighten my arms around her, hoping to remind her that I am, in fact, still here, and rest my chin on the top of her small head.

I am relieved as she reacts, slightly twisting to once again rest her small head over my artificial heart, though making sure to keep her sights on her deceased father, blue eyes glimmering with her hurt and pain. I do not pay any attention to what the seemingly ancient human is drawling on about, letting out a quiet sigh. A small twinge of panic flares through me as I realize that she will be moved to the local orphanage after this, being given no time to adapt after the difficult service.

I do not understand Earth's societies. On Cybertron, if a sparkling was left abandoned after its parental units were off-lined and it had no other family, it would be moved to one of the pre-determined, eligible and willing homes that best fit its individual needs. Most of the time, the workers even took the time to try and match the personalities of the original carrier and creator to the surrogate parental units, to make the youngling feel more comfortable with the situation. And it was always permanent.

The poor sparks were never just shoved with the first family who could take them, moved numerous times, and then given to the foremost family who they deemed fit and who wanted them. An uncountable amount of times, before the war broke out, I had actually deeply considered signing up to become a surrogate creator. Alas, it was not meant to be. When the Decepticons attacked my home town, I abandoned all hopes of ever doing so and immediately enlisted to the Autobot cause, along with the rest of my trine.

Forcing the bitter thoughts out of my mind, I cuddle the distraught girl close to myself as the speech continues. Chromia nudges me, and I glimpse over, annoyed until I see her staring at Natalie with pity and compassion flaring in her electric blue eyes, a deep frown stretched across her fair face. I feel her worry through our sibling bond, and I quickly send a wave of reassurance back in return. I frown as she shoots me a solid glare that clearly states that she is not anywhere close to believing me. Instead, she gently reaches out and tenderly brushes back a strand of hair that had fallen in the child's face.

A few low, somber notes resound around the room, emanating from the giant organ situated in the corner, and I watch in concern, halfway wondering whether or not I should remove her from the room, as she clenches her eyes shut and balls her hands into fists, breathing uneven and choppy as she quivers. Instead, I, along with my siblings, remain seated, focused solely on the distraught girl the rest of the service.

XXX

I keep a tight hold on her small hand, her tiny fingers only able to wrap around a few of mine as she clings to my legs, seemingly scared to be separated. The funeral had been a long and tedious affair, and I despair in the fact that she has since withdrawn into herself once more, blue eyes clouded and icy as she gazes straight ahead. Her red face still has wet trails streaking downwards, evidence of her tears as well as her red, watery eyes. I can see, even through her rather strong façade, that she is struggling to resist the urge to flee, untrusting and heartbroken. Her eyes tell all. I am debating whether or not to drag her to a secluded area once more when my portable Comm. Link vibrates in my pocket, interrupting my thoughts. Irritably huffing and digging it out once more, I flip it open and glare at the screen.

'Do you still have the child?'- Optimus. I blink slightly, confused, but I swiftly reply, gently reaching down and lifting the nearly hysterical girl into my arms once more with my free arm. I quickly type in,

'Yes. Why?' It is less than a second later when the response comes through.

'Meet by my alternate mode.' My spirits darken rather drastically as I realize that my time with the small child is drawing to an end.

'I will arrive shortly.' I quickly punch in, annoyed with the miniscule buttons as I fumble to type the simple message. Sending it, I gently amble in the direction of the wide double doors, the sunlight filtering through and casting bright ripples onto the soiled carpet. Carefully lowering her back onto the ground, I take her hand in my own as she weakly clutches the hem of my dress in her free hand.

Swinging the heavy glass doors open with minimal effort, the slight breeze whips back my holoform's hair, splaying it in my face as a bird chirps from the power line close by. I already know where his alternate mode is, as mine and my siblings' are directly beside it, and I slowly, reluctantly move over, the heat of the day warm as it beats down on both the holoform and my true form. A steady line of vehicles is already forming, leaving the parking lot oddly vacant in a few areas. I notice, however, that none of my fellow Autobots have retreated. I furrow my eyebrows as I notice the two unfamiliar women awkwardly standing behind the all too familiar semi.

- Natalie's P.O.V. -

I automatically grow rigid as I recognize the two ladies stiffly stationed between the many vehicles, seemingly uncomfortable with the situation they are in. Mrs. Eve has the same, obviously fake smile plastered onto her face, grey eyes dull and bored as Mrs. Ann converses with Mr. Will, Annabelle and Mr. Hide flanking him. Mia and Elita are lounging against the purple and blue motorcycles, untrustingly peering over at the two, but mainly Mrs. Eve as their hair whips back in the rather strong wind. Mia was nearly glaring as her eyes, previously caring and concerned, narrow to mere slits. Arcee shoots a confused, worried gaze in my direction as I falter, unwilling to draw close to the former. Something about her is not right. Her tight, stiff stature, her hateful, cold eyes, and her grimace-like 'grin', if it could be called such, seem to back my theory further every time I lay my eyes on her.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Arcee questions, concerned as she snaps me from my thoughts. I realize now that I had come to a complete stop, forcing her to halt as well as I stood in the middle of the lot. Mentally shaking myself, I quickly hasten forward, attempting to appear as natural as forward while still keeping as close to her as possible. Obviously suspicious, but seemingly shaking it off, she matches my pace, curiously glancing to the small group.

Mrs. Ann sympathetically stares at me, downcast with sorrow as I approach, eyes laden with unwanted pity. Mrs. Eve, however, smiles brightly, straightening further as we draw near. "There she is!" she enthusiastically trills, eyes glinting slightly with an emotion unknown to me. She nearly lunges forward, and Arcee, seemingly startled, quickly, and none to subtly, yanks me to herself, her hand resting between my shoulder blades as I blandly stare up at her in confusion. Mrs. Ann steps forward, blinking slightly, and calculatingly glimpses at my rescuer as she stutters.

"N-Natalie, we're going to stop by your old house one more time before we take you to the orphanage so you can pack your things. Anything you don't select will be sold, and the money will be put in your collage funds. After the will reading, that is." She briefly explains, speaking to me in a quiet voice just over a whisper, as if she is afraid I will break. My eyes widen as panicked disbelief shots through me. They're just going to sell everything there?

"The other children are so excited to see you, Natalie! They simply won't stop talking about you!" Mrs. Eve cheerfully exclaims, hands clasped in front of her as her eyes shine and her incessant smile grows. I frown, eyes latching onto the asphalt as Arcee gently takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

I don't want to go. I want to stay at my home, not some random orphanage. I want things to return to how they were before. Before Daddy died, before Mrs. Kelsey had to take care of me, before the funeral. My heart is heavy and undoubtedly breaking as I raise my tired eyes.

"C'mon, sweetie. We need to get you settled. I know today was hard for you," Mrs. Ann calls, voice heavy, dreading and pitying as she carefully steps over, heels clicking as she absently brushes a strand of her wind-blown hair back over her shoulder. Her brown eyes are clouded with sympathy as she releases a long-suffering sigh, seeming to sag.

- Arcee's P.O.V. -

She looks up at me with wide, frightened eyes, slowly backing against me and pressing herself to my side as the social worker approaches. My heart breaks further in two as she allows her emotions to slip past once more, the blue orbs glimmering with sensations a child should never harbor: fear, pain, betrayal, abandonment, uncertainty. I can hardly restrain myself from attempting to persuade the lady to leave her be as she lifts her into her arms, and I doubt I will ever manage to forget the pained look that crosses Natalie's face as I allow her to be taken.

Sorrowfully, I watch in dismay as she is carried to a white van and gently placed onto a booster seat strapped to one of the leather seats. The door closes, blocking her from view, and the lady hurriedly strides back over to the small group assembled. She scans the small crowd, her gaze lingering on me a tad bit longer than the others.

"She'll be fine. We already have a few couples wanting to come in and see her, and we're searching for eligible foster families. Tons of families want a girl like her, and most are willing to work around her lack of communications." She explains. I nod slightly, as well as a few others standing around. Will steps forward a little, running a calloused hand through his mussed brown hair.

"Are we allowed to come visit?" he questions, asking the exact question that I myself was contemplating. She slowly nods, eyes narrowing as she evaluates him.

"Yes, anytime between nine in the morning and four in the afternoon." She finally responds, glancing in the direction of the vehicle.

"Ann, we need to get going. Natalie must be ready to get settled in," Mrs. Eve quickly cuts in, frowning slightly.

"Of course," she agrees, uncrossing her arms and uncomfortably gazing at us. She seems to freeze a moment, before finally stuttering an awkward farewell, trotting over to the vehicle with her companion.

XXX

A/N: I am sorry for not updating sooner, and I also apologize for the massive time skip. I have honestly never attended any sort of funeral, and, therefore, had no idea how to write it. Please R+R!

-StarLight


	6. New Home and Request

A/N: I did it! I managed to get a chapter out before the weekend! I beat my goal of Tuesday! Anyways, I do not own transformers, and please R+R!

-Natalie's P.O.V. -

Cautiously pushing the door closed, having to battle with the wind attempting to pry it open once more to do so, I grimly gaze up at the drooping, weathered building where I will be staying for the next eleven years as I force myself to move to the trunk, a songbird twittering from the nearby tree.

The structure seems to sag, almost as if it is simply tired of being. The soiled, filthy off-white walls seem ready to collapse underneath their own weight, the windows tarnished and ridden with layers of dust and pollen, making it impossible to see through them.

A wilting garden is planted to the right of the battered wooden door, the leaves brown and crumbling and the stiff, lifeless buds hanging hopelessly from the shriveling stems. To the left sits an ancient, dull black van, the paint chipping and the tires terribly flat, causing the corroding chrome bumper to sink to the cracked pavement.

I force my gaze away from my new 'home' as Mrs. Ann approaches, heels incessantly clicking against the worn, rutted sidewalk. She halts as she reaches my side, gazing at the sorrowful, depressing building. "What do you think?" she warmly questions, voice calm and soothing as she steals a glance down at me, eyes sparkling slightly. "It's very… Homey," she finally elaborates, struggling to find a pleasant adjective to use.

"Yes," Mrs. Eve breathes out as she unlatches the trunk and swings it open, pausing as she glances uncaringly to us. "I'd like to fix it up a bit, but I can't find the time; it's normally a madhouse around here!" she laughs out, mouth curving upwards into a dry smile as her gaze returns to the van.

"Well, I think it is wonderful," Mrs. Ann insists, a small grin playing on her lips as she grasps my bony hand in her own and tugs me to where Mrs. Eve is standing. "Here, Natalie," She quickly reaches over, tugging out my rather large backpack, one that had been meant for school once it starts back, and carefully lowers it into my arms.

I had been allowed three suitcases and a backpack or similar, and I chose the largest ones I could, realizing that it would be all I have. The largest, I had decided, would be for my clothes, the second for other essential items like hairbrushes and toiletries, and the third, as well as my backpack, for items of great importance to me. It worked out perfectly, my small size making it to where nearly half of my closet fit into the one bag, along with a couple pairs of tennis shoes and sandals, leaving me plenty of space for other items.

I uneasily watch as the two adults quickly heave my suitcases out of the large compartment, the breeze whipping back the strands of my hair which had fallen out of the tight braid, and, sliding the rosy pink backpack over my shoulders, I stand two onto their wheels. With slight difficulty, having to brace my hand on the tops in order to make any progress, I yank out the sturdy plastic bars that serve as handles and take hold of them. Worriedly glancing to the third, I puzzle for a moment over exactly what to do.

"Oh, don't worry, dear," Mrs. Ann quickly assures with a small, amused chortle. "I'll get it for you." I shoot her a thankful gaze, forcing a small grin onto my face before snapping my eyes to the front as Mrs. Eve begins to move forward, a hand flicking upwards to brush back her own hair, which had easily found a way into her eyes. I quickly chase after her, struggling with the two heavy cases as they painfully collide with my exposed heels (I had changed into more casual clothing once home, gently folding the sundress and placing it in with the other outfits) and I am gradually forced to slow, Mrs. Ann appearing beside me and matching my pace as we amble up the short pathway.

We stop behind the tall blonde, and I absent-mindedly watch as she reaches out and struggles slightly to turn the rusted doorknob, readjusting my grip on the two suitcases as she shoves her left foot outward, bracing her heel on the small step and rams her shoulder against the streaked wood. It finally gives, dramatically creaking as it swings inward, and she quickly steps back, motioning with one hand for us to enter as she peers at the corroding hinges, glaring at them in irritation.

I feel a thin hand gently press against my back, applying just enough pressure to urge me forward. Without looking back to see who it was, I hesitantly, almost fearfully, grasp the thin rubber handles and jerk them upwards, over the threshold. The bottoms dully click against the nearly rotting wooden planks, the surprisingly cool air brushing my sun-baked skin as I gently step in, glancing around.

I am assuming that this is the greeting room. Straight ahead lies what appears to be a receptionist's desk, the beaten, filthy countertop resting on its tall wooden base, cluttered with papers. Nobody is behind it, revealing a ratty, worn rolling chair, the black fabric tearing to expose the yellowing foam underneath. The walls are a dusty, aging beige, the only decorations being a few soiled and ripped paintings scattered about.

I shrink back as I catch sight of a few other children loitering around, a few crossing to get to the ancient, creaking staircase in the back corner, others running filthy feather dusters along shelves and in crevices or hauling giant black garbage bags filled to the brim. All are much older than me, and they all stare on in interest as I am tenderly shoved inwards, the door clicking close behind us as my suitcases rattle along behind.

"Children, you know it isn't polite to stare!" Mrs. Eve lightly reprimands, shooting each one a reproachful glare. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, unease welling in my stomach as they drastically pale, quickly ducking their heads with wide eyes as they scurry, almost sprint, out of the room. Soon we are the only ones left.

"Are there any papers I need to sign?" Mrs. Ann resignedly questions, gently lowering my case before looking to the woman. She hums in thought before moving to the desk, quickly swinging back a gate that I had previously overlooked and forcefully yanking out a drawer. She rummages through for a moment before sliding a single paper out of the stack, as well as a battered pen.

"Just this one," she responds, laying it on one of the few clear areas of the work station. She swiftly glances over her shoulder to me, and her eyes brighten slightly. "Hang on a sec and I'll have someone show you to your room." She briefly explains. I shyly attach my gaze onto the stained wood panels, only to look up a second later as she moves out from behind the desk and to a doorway to our left.

Pushing open the door with ease, she leans halfway in, bracing herself against the frame. "Hannah!" she quickly exclaims, voice a tad sharper than normal as she seems to catch sight of the person whom she was seeking.

"Y-Yes, Mrs. Eve?" a timid voice speaks up, followed by the sound of light footsteps quickly crossing what seems to be a tile floor.

"Natalie's here. She's going to share your room now that Maya's been moved to a foster home." She directs, voice neutral and absent as she backs out and jogs back to us.

I watch in interest as a tall, thin girl, looking to be around thirteen, darts into view, scraggly, dull brown hair pulled back into a loose, unkempt ponytail. Her emotional green eyes are dilated with unprovoked trepidation, and her stiff, cautious gait sets me on edge immediately. Grey shirt ragged, worn and full of holes, and jeans in the same condition, her thin, malnourished body seems to be in only slightly better shape than my own.

She cautiously slinks to my side as I struggle to yank the third suitcase to myself, preparing to lug them up the steps. "Here," she begins, her soft voice cracking and tight. "Let me help you with that,"

She reaches out, nervously taking one of the handles from my tight grasp and into her own shaking hands, and she stoops down and effortlessly clutches the bottom of another, lifting it up off the ground. "C'mon," she beckons, stepping forward.

I quickly advance, going from a slow amble to a quick jog as she accelerates toward the staircase, her eye glimmering in hope and slight fear. We reach the staircase easily, and she hastens upwards, taking them two at a time even with the added weight; I am not so agile or strong, clumsily stumbling upwards as my shoes snag on the creaking, splintered steps and the weight begins to take its toll.

She glances down at me around halfway up, and her eyes widen as realization flashes across them. She immediately stops. "Sorry," she breathlessly laughs out, advancing forward once more, though at a comfortable walk this time. "Didn't realize you were having trouble,"

I force a small smile to appear, my eyes fixed on the steps as we clamor upwards. An awkward silence passes by, and I can feel her inquisitive gaze burning a hole into my side. "I hope you don't mind," she begins, obviously uncomfortable. "We're in the attic. It's not that bad, though. I don't get bothered that much, so that's a plus." She dutifully informs me as we reach the top of the flight. I look up as she lowers both bags to the ground, tentatively watching as she narrows her eyes, not in a crude way, but a calculating sort, as if she was beginning to piece something together.

"You don't talk, do you?" she finally asks, realization washing across her features as her shock slips into her voice. I bow my head, slightly embarrassed as I peer up out of the top of my eyes, my cheeks heating. "No, no!" she quickly gasps out, a hand flying to her mouth as she grimaces. "That came out _so_ wrong, so incredibly wrong!" she chastises herself, voice revealing her panic as her emerald eyes widen in alarm. "I did not mean it like that, I promise!" she assures me, muttering angrily to herself between reassurances.

I smile slightly, glancing up fully as she continues her tirade. "What I meant was… Well, I really don't know _what_ I meant, but I know it wasn't that! You know what? Let's just forget that ever happened." She resolves, seemingly bewildered herself as she suddenly lunges forward, ponytail swinging with every move. I jump into motion, having to jog slightly to come beside her once more.

"It doesn't matter, though. I mean, that you don't talk," she rambles, eyes bright as her free arm swings jovially beside her. "I'm talkative enough for the both of us! Everyone says so! So how do you like the place? It isn't that great, I know, but you'll be out of here in no time."

I intently listen as she rants, her perky voice and upbeat spirit lifting my own dreary mood as we roll along, the musty, damp air causing my skin to grow clammy. Diverting my attention for a moment, I spare a look around, finding us heading towards a smaller staircase positioned at the end of the desolate hall. This one, however, resembled the type used for a fire escape, thick concrete walls on either side and only around a foot and a half in between them. I can see no lights, though I am hoping I am wrong; I have never liked the dark.

"C'mon! You'll like it… Well, if you're not afraid of heights," she nervously trails, green eyes darting to my face as she seems to freeze, her gait slowing as she tenses. I allow a small smile to slip past, indicating that I have no hard feelings about the subject which is so touchy for so many. She seems to breathe a sigh of relief, her crooked grin appearing once more.

Quickly ascending, stumbling over myself in the darkness and nearly knocking Hannah over along with me more than once, we soon find ourselves at the top of the short stairwell and in front of an unfinished oak door, the handle rusted and the planks splintering. Glimpsing over to my ridged figure and allowing a mysterious, mischievous smirk, she dramatically shoves the door open, flinging it back with ease as she bursts forward and into the room.

I trot in, uncomfortable to be left alone in the pitch black passageway, and quickly release my bags and cup my hands above my eyes as a rather bright light blinds me momentarily. "Oh!" a sheepish giggle. "Sorry," rapidly blinking, I glance up, halfway glaring as I irately stare at my roommate, who was now standing beside a large window, a hand still on the dusty quilts that serve as a makeshift curtain and the other ever-so-slightly behind her head. Eyes sparkling as she humorously cringes, she shamefacedly smirks.

I exasperatedly shake my head, closing my eyes for a second before allowing them to slide open, standing my cases on their ends and glancing around for a moment. The decaying, unfinished wooden planks, stained by time and use, creak ominously underneath my feet, and I fear that they will collapse as I move. The florescent light streaming from the dusty bulbs merge with the natural flowing in from the two windows on the wall in front of me, their glass cracking and layered with splotchy grime.

The unattractive olive green paint catches the glow slightly, reflecting onto the off-white trim bordering it and making appear more cream than what it truly is. "Here," Hannah calls out, and the floor boards creak dangerously as she moves into view, skipping cheerfully over to one of the two battered wooden dressers stationed against the wall in which the doorway is placed. Jogging over to the one furthest from me, on the left side of the room, she places a hand on the top. "This is yours. I'm on the right side, you have the left." She briefly explains in a breathless tone, removing her hand to allow it to limply dangle by her side, a perfect handprint pressed into the dust. "You may want to shake out your covers, though," she hesitantly advises, grimacing as we both look to the small twin-sized bed pushed into the corner, a scraggly baby-blue blanket pulled neatly over the mattress, a pillow casually leaning against the headboard. I can see from here the thick layer of dust settled on it.

I nod slightly, hands clasped awkwardly in front of myself. She laughs slightly, leaping from her spot against the wall. I start as she roughly grasps my wrist, stumbling and barely regaining my balance as she yanks me forward. She pulls me to the identical bed on her side of the room, forcefully shoving me down and dropping beside me as she smirks.

"In case you don't know by now, I'm Hannah Montier." she quickly introduces. I nod slightly, not sure what to do with myself as she lets a small smile slip past. "You're six?" she curiously asks, seeming unsure as her eyes narrow, head falling to the side slightly. I give a short shake of my head, looking up at her out of the top of my eyes. She frowns, chewing on her bottom lip as her eyes dull in thought.

"Seven?" she unsurely drawls, looking to me out of the corner of her eyes as she stretches the word. I silently giggle, nodding as I allow a smirk to slip past. "I knew it!" she successfully trills, throwing her hands into the air. "Anyways," she continues, seeming to gain control of herself as she sobers. "I'm thirteen. Been here nine of them. So if you need any tips, just come see me." She winks slightly, scooting backwards to rest against the wall and bringing her legs up onto the mattress.

"I'll take you to meet my friend, Shiloh, after you're introduced. She'll love you! She's fourteen." She continues. We both look to the door in surprise as a loud rap resounds, shaking it slightly before it bursts open. A thin, pale girl of around fifteen stands in the entrance, seething as she glares daggers to us.

"Mrs. Eve wants us all to meet in the dining room in five minutes. Better hurry; you know what happens when we're late," she gravely implies as she brushes back her knotted raven hair, brown eyes glinting with hatred, and I feel my heart sink at her words.

"Got it. Thanks, Ashley," Hannah responds, seemingly unphased by her cruel stare and rigid posture. Ashley merely nods, her icy gaze landing on my form for a moment before she retreats, ducking out of the doorway and vanishing into the blackness.

XXX - Arcee's P.O.V. - XXX

Taking care not to accidentally place my pede on an unsuspecting soldier, I nimbly stride down the humongous hallways, sickeningly white concrete walls several dozen feet apart and the concave ceiling over fifty feet above my head. Processor fogged with my rather morbid thoughts, it takes me a moment to notice one of the many humans calling my name. Shuttering my optics and swiveling my upper half, I find Colonel Lennox chasing after me, having to sprint around his rather baffled comrades in order to stay within proximity.

"My apologies, Lennox," I distractedly atone, metal plates creaking and hydraulics hissing as I stop, looking down as he races to my side. He comes to my waist, so I am spared the trouble of kneeling as I meet his gaze. "What is it I can do for you?" My tone has its normal metallic ring now that I am out of my holoform, along with its normal volume, so I barely restrain myself from shouting after having become accustomed to the softer pitch.

"Jazz asked 'Bee to ask Wheelie to ask Sam to ask me to ask you if you could pick up some wax from the supply closet in the west wing, but not the kind in the red can, the one in the yellow with the sealer mixed in." He relayed the information to me in a single breath, face fading to a slight red as he finished, inhaling sharply. I shutter my optics slightly, an amused grin creeping onto my faceplates.

"Tell Sam to tell Wheelie to tell 'Bee to tell Jazz that I will, indeed, get it, and will bring it to him on my way back." I laugh out, gears whirling as I vent. He smirks, panting slightly, and holds out his fist, thumb in the air as his head droops.

"Gotcha," he chuckles, running a tanned hand through his auburn hair. He begins to turn, taking a step away.

"Oh, by the way, you do not happen to know where Prime is, do you?" I quickly question, having been searching for said Autobot leader. You would think that it would be easy to find the largest mech on the base, but the past half hour has proved the theory wrong. The colonel stops, eyes dulling as he thinks, rubbing his chin slightly.

"Uh, the last time I saw him, he was heading towards his office. But, that was around ten minutes ago." He slowly informs, seemingly unsure.

"Okay, thanks!" I cheerfully exclaim, happy to have a lead. I had already dropped by there, but I must have missed him.

"No problem," Will returns, spinning on his heel and dashing off once more. I roll my optics slightly, resuming my previous pace down the large corridor, a good many soldiers shouting out greetings to me as I pass by. I nod my head in greeting, smiling warmly at each one as they pass, all the while taking care not to bump into anyone. It is harder than you think considering how many humans there are, and I shudder at how horrid it must be for the mechs, who are four times my size.

I quickly round the corner, striding down the hallway leading to the Autobot hangar, and freeze as Bumblebee, in vehicle mode, speeds by, no doubt going top-speed, with his charge, Sam, yelling frantically in the driver's seat. They easily swerve around my legs, back-end sliding wildly as they turn around the corner. Looking down to the nearest human soldier in confusion, I met her own confused gaze before I look up once more.

"Get back here, you pit-spawns!" a loud, furious voice yells out, coming rapidly closer.

"Ironhide," both I and the soldier blandly state simultaneously, right as said weapons' specialist sprints into view, cannons whirling threateningly as his metal plates clang together. Ignoring the chase, honestly not caring, I continue on, this time uninterrupted.

Reaching the giant metal door separating his office from the rest of the expansive room, I gently reach out, rapping once on his door and stepping back. "Enter," a baritone voice calls out, tone unrevealing of any emotions as I gently tap the button that controls the door. It slides without protest, whirring slightly as it retreats, revealing the simple, comfy office in which the Prime can normally be found. I hesitantly step forward, uneasy as I advance.

The red and blue titan is seated behind a metal desk, giant, government provided datapads stacked one on top of the other in numerous piles, giant sheets of paper littering the surface. "Have a seat," he gently commands, motioning to the Autobot-sized metal chair situated opposite him.

"Thank you," I reply, moving forward and gracefully falling onto the seat. He places the tablet from which he had been reading back onto the tabletop, laying his arms on top of the table as he stares at me.

"It is about the child, is it not?" he questions. My optics spin outward in slight shock as I glance up from my hands, which are clasped in my lap. I will never know how he does that.

"Well, actually, it is," I nervously continue, tank churning slightly. 'Might as well get straight to the point,' I hesitantly reason with myself. "I wish to visit her occasionally." I force myself to spit out, voice quivering slightly. While I am not scared of Prime by any means, I am rather nervous that my request will be denied.

"Arcee," he slowly begins after a moment of calculating silence. "I do not believe that is wise." My spark sinks slightly, and dread wells within me.

"I cannot bear to leave her alone like that, Optimus. She is merely a sparkling, and you saw how distraught she was."

"I realize that, Arcee," he softly continues, meeting my optics. "But continuously meeting at the orphanage may draw unwanted," he pauses, allowing the context to sink in. "Attention,"

"But there hasn't been any Decepticon activity for five years," I reason, optics pleading.

"While your point is valid, a lack of activity does not ensure they have fled. I have come to believe they are merely lying in wait. And also, your absence may be deadly in the case of an ambush." He kindly explains, attempting to sway me. I will not go down that easy.

"But a lack of activity to this degree leads me to believe that my appearance will go unnoticed. Also, with the security measures put into place, an ambush, as Prowl calculated, is only a 0.923 percent chance."

"The percentage was an estimate, not exact." He reminds. I look up as my sister, his sparkmate, approaches from behind, violet paint glinting in the artificial light as she exits from a door on the opposite wall.

"Oh, Optimus, just let her go. We both know that she will win this," Elita drawls out, appearing behind him and resting her arms around his shoulders, chin on top of his helm as she leans against him. I resist the urge to vent in relief; with Elita on my side, my case is untouchable. He pauses a moment, optics dimming as he vents, the human equivalent of a sigh.

"Alright. I give you permission to visit three times a week, as long as there is nothing that we need your assistance with here. If the Decepticons show any interest in your excursions, then the visits will have to be ceased for not only her safety, but the entire towns." He gives in. A jubilant smile creeps onto my faceplates, and Elita smirks in success, knowing perfectly well that she was what had tipped the odds in my favor. "Now, I believe Ratchet has been searching for you…?"

Elita bursts into laughter, helm dropping from her sparkmate's and hanging limply as she attempts to restrain her giggles. "And you as well, I am afraid," he finishes, turning slightly to view her. Her laughter automatically stops, a look of terror replacing the one of humor. She slowly removes her arms from his shoulders, stiffly moving around the desk. Grabbing my wrist, she peers into my joyful optics, her own glowing an urgent neon blue.

"Shall we run?" she questions, voice even and unemotional. I nod firmly.

"We shall," With that, we simultaneously turn, sprinting top-speed out of the room, the leader watching with amused optics.


End file.
